The Best Man
by Sara Wolfe
Summary: There's a reason none of Wilson's wives like House.
1. Rebecca

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to Shore and Co.**

**Author's Note: My first attempt at humor. Constructive critcism is welcome; flames will be laughed at.**

**The Best Man**

**Chapter One: Rebecca**

He was drunk.

Not hung over, like he might have been after a night of hard drinking, but well and truly drunk. Which was quite an accomplishment, considering he hadn't had alcohol since nearly one in the morning.

"I'm drunk," a voice said, mournfully, intruding on, and echoing, his thoughts.

Greg House looked over to see Daniel, Wilson's baby brother, sink into the chair opposite his, grimacing in pain.

"I thought I would be hung over for Jimmy's wedding," Daniel continued. "Cotton mouth, headache, the whole nine yards. I didn't think I'd be drunk."

"Well, we've certainly proved that it's possible to drink too much," House said. "And we're going to have a whopper of a hangover when we sober up."

"You're the doctor," Daniel said, almost plaintively. "Isn't there anything we can do to get sober? Because my mother will kill me for being drunk at Jimmy's wedding."

"Only time," House told him, sagely. "And, speaking of the doomed man, where is he? Isn't he supposed to be here with us?"

Daniel shrugged, carelessly.

"I just thought he'd come over early, since he wasn't in the house when we woke up," he replied.

"What the hell happened last night?"

House winced as the maid of honor, Stacy Leland, stormed into the room, yelling at the top of her lungs.

"What do you mean?"

Brave of Daniel, to risk the wrath of so pissed off a woman.

"There is a synagogue full of people out there, a weeping bride in her budoir, and a missing groom," Stacy ranted. "What do you think I mean?"

"So, you want to know why Wilson isn't here," House stated.

"Yes," Stacy hissed, sounding as though only a supreme act of will was keeping her from killing either one of them. "What happened at your bachelor party last night?"

"Well, it got a little hazy after we got to the ticket counter," House informed her.

A dead silence filled the room after that statement. Stacy kept opening and closing her mouth, but seemed unable to make any words emerge.

"Ticket counter?" she finally spoke, in a voice barely above a whisper. "What ticket counter?"

"You know, that's a good question," House mused.

"I remember we tied the ticket around Jimmy's neck," Daniel said, suddenly, sounding inordinately pleased with himself.

"That's right," House added, as a memory came back. "We tied the ticket around his neck and put him on the plane."

He grinned at Daniel, who grinned back, both pleased at having solved the puzzle of last night. Stacy, however, wasn't done with them.

"What. Plane?" she asked, snapping off the words cleanly.

House imagined she wanted to do the same to their heads.

"That part's still a blank," he admitted, reluctantly.

"Let me get this straight," Stacy said. "You put the groom on a plane, and you have no idea where it went?"

"That pretty much sums it up, yeah," House told her.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she shrieked.

"We were drunk," Daniel said, in a poor attempt at explanation. "Thinking wasn't exactly a priority."

"Obviously," Stacy snapped, her eyes flashing, furiously. "What, exactly, am I supposed to tell everyone out there?" she demanded. "Not to mention Rebecca, who thinks James abandoned her at the altar."

"We're really sorry," Daniel said, in a meek voice.

"You've got to admit," House said, chuckling. "This is pretty funny."

Stacy leveled a glare at him, and he could literally feel his family jewels shrinking up in fear.

"Or not," he amended. Then, inspiration struck.

"We can get him back in an hour," he said, quickly, ignoring the incredulous look Daniel was giving him.

"How-" Stacy started, suspiciously, but House cut her off by pushing her toward the door.

"An hour," he repeated, confidently. "Just stall everyone."

Shoving her out of the room, he shut the door in her startled face, listening carefully until he heard her retreating footsteps fade in the distance.

"How are we supposed to get Jimmy back if we don't even remember where we sent him?" Daniel demanded, as he turned around.

"We won't," House told him. "But an hour's plenty of time to get across the Jersey border."

**XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX**

James Wilson awoke with a groan, to find himself slumped awkwardly in a hard, uncomfortable, plastic chair. The kind of chairs they had in airports.

Stretching, he realized that there was a slip of paper tied around his neck with a shoelace. Tearing it off, he read departure and arrival times.

A plane ticket. He had a plane ticket tied around his neck.

Horror growing in the pit of his stomach, he looked around wildly, until his eye fell on a sign on the far wall.

A sign bidding him welcome to the Dallas International Airport.


	2. Beth

**Author's Note: Yeah, my sense of humor abandoned me for this chapter. And I can't promise it's going to come back.**

**Chapter Two: Beth**

"Go away."

Wilson snorted in amusement.

"That's a fine thing to say to your best friend," he replied, from his position in the doorway to House's hospital room.

In answer, House picked up the oversized tennis ball from the table next to him, and hefted it, experimentally, in the palm of his hand.

"Go away," he repeated. "Go to your wedding before I start chucking things at your head."

"Starting with that?" Wilson asked, nodding at the tennis ball.

The ball of unidentified origin, or BOUO, as House had taken to calling it, had mysteriously appeared by his bedside the other morning. There'd been no note and, when questioned, the nurses didn't remember anyone coming in to leave it there. Wilson figured that its origins would forever remain a secret.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Wilson asked, a moment later.

"I'm fine," House snapped, testily. "The morphine's finally kicked in, and I'm about as comfortable as I'm going to get while lying here in this fishbowl for all to gawk at. Now, get out of here before I get blamed for you missing another wedding."

"Well, the last time was your fault," Wilson reminded him. "I'm going, I'm going!" he added, hastily, when House cocked his arm back, menacingly.

Still chuckling to himself, he hurried down to the parking garage, and drove as quickly as he could to the church. Yes, church.

Beth, a devout Catholic, had insisted on what she called a "proper" wedding, complete with church and priest. She'd been so forceful, that the one time he'd mentioned having a rabbi officiate, he'd been completely overridden.

Not that it really mattered, in the long run. Married was married, right? What did it matter where it happened, so long as it did?

With that thought in mind, he pulled into the last available parking spot and sprinted for the door. He ducked inside the church, just in time to be greeted by Danny, who tapped his watch with an impatient look on his face.

"Since when are you in such a hurry to see me get married?" Wilson asked, as his baby brother fussed over his appearance, straightening his tie and jacket.

Danny didn't answer. Instead, he pulled something out of his pocket and solemnly handed it over. Wilson turned the laminated card over, laughing when he realized that it was the plane ticket from five years ago.

"Just in case," Danny said, grinning impishly.

"I can't believe you kept this," Wilson said, shaking his head in disbelief as he slipped it into his own pocket.

"Actually, it was Greg's idea," Danny confessed. "Since you wouldn't let us throw you a bachelor party-"

"No way, not after last time," Wilson interrupted him. "I didn't want to have to explain to another bride that I was in Texas."

"We would have found someplace new," Danny told him.

"Where?" Wilson asked. "Germany?"

"Now, there's an idea," his brother remarked, idly. "Come on, Jimmy. It's show time."

**XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX**

"Do you, James Wilson, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," Wilson replied, smiling at Beth as he answered the priest's words.

"Do you, Bethany Randolph, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," Beth said, her face glowing with happiness.

Hearing those words should have made him the happiest man in the world. But, his thoughts kept drifting back to House, lying in that hospital bed. And there was a sharp twinge in his heart every time.

Then, the priest was declaring them man and wife, and imploring him to kiss his bride. They did, but it was over quickly, and lacked the passion that had fueled their relationship in its early stages.

They walked down the aisle together, arm in arm, the picture of perfect, wedded, bliss. A picture that was ruined in a second.

The altar boy Wilson had left his cell phone with, just in case of an emergency, stepped in front of them, his face troubled.

"Dr. Wilson," he said, and Wilson winced at the invocation of his title, "it's Princeton-Plainsboro."

Wilson nodded, taking the phone and stepping away, finding a quiet, secluded alcove to stand in.

"Hello?"

"James, thank God." Lisa Cuddy's voice floated to his ear, relief evident in her tone.

"Lisa, what is it?" he asked.

He'd never heard her so worried, before.

"It's House," she said, and his hear clenched, painfully, at the words.

"He's not-" he demanded, but his throat closed up, hard, over the rest of the words.

_'He's not dead, is he?'_ his mind finished the thought.

"No, no," Cuddy hastened to assure him. "No, we got him back."

"Got him back?" he asked, faintly. "What do you mean, got him back?"

"He went into cardiac arrest about half an hour after you left," Cuddy told him, and Wilson felt the world start to spin.

His legs went weak, and he slid slowly down the wall, his jacket bunching up behind him. Black spots danced in front of his eyes.

"He's all right, now, isn't he?" he asked, pleadingly, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.

"He asked to be put into a chemically-induced coma," Cuddy said, heavily. "To try and get through the worst of the pain."

"And?" Wilson prompted, sensing that there was more that she wasn't telling him.

"Stacy," Cuddy said, and then she stopped, sighing. "Stacy exercised her power as his medical proxy and opted for the debriedment," she finished.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"What?" he demanded. "How could she go against his wishes like that?"

"She probably saved his life!" Cuddy defended, hotly.

"And made him a cripple for the rest of it!" Wilson snapped back.

Then, he took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.

"I'm sorry, Lisa," he whispered. "I didn't mean-"

"I know," Cuddy assured him. "Look, he's in surgery right now. And he'll be in the coma for at least forty-eight hours."

"And how much pain will he be in when you bring him out of it?" Wilson couldn't help asking. "Thank you for telling me, Lisa."

Cuddy murmured a response, but he didn't hear her. Shutting the phone, he broke the connection, staring off into space. He didn't come back until he felt a hand on his arm.

"James, what's wrong?" Beth asked, her brow creasing in worry.

He looked at her, dazedly, as her words slowly penetrated the fog that had surrounded his brain.

"It's Greg," he said, quietly.

"Your friend?" Beth asked. "Is he okay?"

"No," he answered, "he's--he's not doing too well. I need to go to the hospital."

"Is he dying?" Beth asked, frowning when he shook his head.

"No, he's stable, but-"

"Well, wasn't it you who said that the best doctors in Princeton were working on his case?" she continued. "James, what can you possibly do that they can't?"

"I can-"

"Our plane leaves in an hour," Beth interrupted him. "We're leaving for our honeymoon."

"I'm sorry," he said, apologetically. "I can't leave him. Not now."

"Our honeymoon," Beth repeated, plaintively.

"We could postpone-"

"Forget it," Beth snapped, suddenly going from tears to anger in an instant. "I've got the tickets, I'll go to Aruba by myself."

"Beth!" he called out, but his wife had already hitched up the skirt of her gown and stalked out to where the limo was parked.

With a sigh, he followed her, going instead to his own car. He watched the limo as it pulled out the parking lot, and then rested his head on his steering wheel, finally giving into the tears.

**XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX**

He ran down the hall of the Intensive Care Unit, almost running into Stacy. Skidding to a stop, he grabbed her shoulders just in time to keep her from falling over.

"Jimmy," she said, relief evident in her voice. "Aren't you supposed to-"

"I need to be here," he interrupted her. "Stacy-"

"He'll never forgive me," Stacy told him, tearfully.

"You don't know that," Wilson said, feeling suddenly helpless in the face of her grief.

Stacy gave a small, bitter laugh.

"He's going to hate me," she said, softly. "And I don't blame him. I hate myself, right now."

"He'll get over it," Wilson told her. "No matter how angry he is when he wakes up, he won't stay that way. He loves you too much."

Stacy shook her head, sighing.

"When he wakes up, he's not going to want to see me," she said.

"Stacy, what are you talking about?" Wilson asked, suspiciously.

"I-" Stacy trailed off, looking around, helplessly, tears brimming in her eyes. "I'm not going to be here when he wakes up."

"You--you're abandoning him?" Wilson demanded, furiously. "After what you did, you're abandoning him?"

"You said it yourself," Stacy told him. "After what I did. It'll be better for him if I'm not there, reminding him of it."

"He's going to be reminded of it every day, whether you're there or not!" Wilson exploded.

A couple of people walking past shot him curious looks, but he ignored them. He didn't care who heard him, anymore.

"Every damn day," he ranted, "when he looks at that leg, when he has to rely on some sort of physical aid just to be mobile, he'll be reminded of it. Your running away isn't going to change that."

"I'm sorry," Stacy whispered, reminding him, uncomfortably, of himself with Beth.

Then, she turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the long hallway.

**XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX**

Two days later, Cuddy reversed the chemical coma House had been placed under.

"He should come out of it, soon," she told him.

"I know," Wilson said, not tearing his gaze away from his friend.

"James, maybe you should-"

"I'm not leaving him," Wilson interrupted her, his voice rough with tears and exhaustion. "I won't let him wake up alone."

Cuddy looked like she wanted to say something, but shook her head a moment later. She walked to the door, turning before she left the room.

"It's good that he has you," she said, simply.

Wilson nodded in acknowledgement, then turned his attention back to House, dismissing Cuddy from his mind. He sat that way for nearly half an hour, until he heard a soft groan from the bed.

"House?" he said, jumping to his feet.

Another groan was the only answer he got. Whipping out the penlight in his pocket, he shined it in House's eyes, only to have his hand batted at, irritably.

"Knock it off," House mumbled.

"How do you feel?" Wilson asked, sitting back down.

"She did it, didn't she?" House asked, rather than answering.

"Yeah," Wilson said, tiredly. "She did the debriedment."

For a second, Wilson thought Greg was going to explode with fury, but he simply stared at the ceiling. The lack of response worried him.

"Greg?" he asked, carefully.

"How much?" House asked.

"Nearly seventy-five percent of the muscle in your thigh," Wilson told him.

"I want to see," House said.

Wilson considered arguing, but knew it would be useless. Helping House to sit up in the bed, he tossed back the blanket covering his legs. House stared down at the ruin of his leg, his face closing off, going blank. With a sigh, Wilson helped to lie back down and covered his legs back up.

It occurred to him that House hadn't yet asked about Stacy, beyond acknowledging the debriedment. And Wilson wasn't yet ready to enlighten him.

"You should rest, Greg," he told him, instead, and House sighed, heavily, his eyes drifting shut.

When he spoke again, his voice was slurred with exhaustion and the pain meds.

"Aren't you supposed to be in Aruba with your pretty, new wife? What are you doing here, Jimmy?"

Wilson sighed as his mind inevitably drifted to a sandy beach, where Beth was probably tanning herself and getting hit on by the cabana boys. Then, his gaze fell to the bed, where House lay, his body a twisted wreck and his eyes clouded with pain. And he knew he was right where he was supposed to be.

"You needed me," he replied.


End file.
